


heartlines.

by tulowhiskey



Series: spectrum. [2]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Caretaking, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Injury Recovery, M/M, Power Imbalance, Subdrop (Kind of), Toronto Blue Jays, just a lot of feelings, mentions of family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-15 07:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13025892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulowhiskey/pseuds/tulowhiskey
Summary: Troy hasn't felt right in weeks, and he knows it's more than just the injury that's had him off the field and in a cast for a month.





	heartlines.

**Author's Note:**

> in case you missed it: at the end of july, troy suffered a season-ending ankle sprain. the team went on the road two days later, and then he wasn't seen again until a surprise visit about a month later. during that same time, marco did **not** get traded (praise hands!), but it sure was talked about a lot. things were very uncertain for awhile. 
> 
> that visit is when this takes place. 
> 
> =
> 
> title from ‘[heartlines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8fOkMEbtuA)’ by florence and the machine <3 
> 
> warnings in the tags, but a lot of the heavier stuff is barely more than implied, incredibly vague and/or happening in the background. this is actually (surprisingly!) fluffy and vanilla. go figure.  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> if you or anyone you know is mentioned in this, please hit back, clear your cache, and never google yourself again, for the love of shoeless joe.

It was silly - and that was putting it nicely - to travel from Las Vegas to Toronto for the sole purpose of getting a cast removed, and counterproductive to disrupt routine and recovery and struggle through a solo trip with limited mobility just for the sake of - what? Familiarity? It’s not like there’s a lack of high performance medical personnel in Vegas, or at least within a closer range and shorter trip. 

He knows it doesn’t really make sense - Troy’s been fighting his side of it for over a week, since he decided to make the trip; he’s heard it all, and she’s not wrong. But Vegas, LA, Phoenix... they don’t have the people, _his_ people, and if he’s ever going to be honest about it, that’s what he needs most. It’s been month since his injury, and Troy has been aimless and adrift without his team. It’s been kind of a sore spot at home, but, what isn’t these days? 

He hasn't felt right in weeks, and he knows it's more than just the injury that's had him off the field and in a cast for a month. There’s something nagging at him, pulling him into his head, calling out for his attention - trouble is, he can never quite grasp what exactly what that is either. So it’s just been easier to blame the injury, the lack of baseball, the dog days of summer being wasted away on crutches, for everything. 

Fewer questions he doesn't know how to answer that way, too. 

So, yeah - it was silly, but felt absolutely imperative to go up there one more time before the season ended. And even while struggling through the airport with crutches and a backpack, Troy can't regret the decision at all. He's breathing easier before he even leaves the airport. 

He's had a condo in Toronto since the trade, but it's too big for one person and a twenty minute drive to the field, so he’s arranged to stay at a hotel near the field instead. It's not unfamiliar - he’s been there before - but it’s large and empty and impersonal. He hates it within minutes, so Troy calls for a car to take him to the field a full day before he was scheduled to drop in. The whole team team will be there by now, and that's what he needs. He's already been away far too long. 

=

No one is expecting to see Troy today and a shout goes through the clubhouse when he's spotted coming in. It's a little bit overwhelming, but no one seems to notice how skittish and spacy he is - or, feels, at least - and for the first time in weeks, things almost feel normal. 

Everyone cycles through his corner to say hello, and it isn't quite settling, but at least Troy doesn't feel like he's going to float away anymore. His double locker is sandwiched between Ryan and Marcus and their constant banter keeps him engaged, and that's a step in the right direction.

Marco comes over after the crowd has thinned a bit. He drops into the leather chair in front of Ryan's locker and spins it lazily to face Troy. He's not starting today, so he's loose and cheerful and relaxed, and something in Troy settles when Marco stretches a leg out and uses a foot to turn Troy's chair a bit more in his direction. 

"You been doin' okay?" Marco asks, and there's something - not quite dark, but shadowy and intense, storming in his gaze. He breaks it sooner than Troy would like, but that’s probably for the best with their entire team milling about.

"Uh huh." And... it's not a lie, he _has_ been okay. He's just felt disconnected and unsettled and kind of hazy, too. “Glad to get this thing off tomorrow,” he adds, even though he's sure the question had nothing to do with his ankle. 

Marco gives a look that makes it clear: he doesn't believe that’s the whole of it, but he doesn't press either. Instead he widens his focus to the whole little group lingering at that end of the clubhouse, jumping into the open conversation. Still, his socked feet rest on Troy's chair, crossed at the ankles and tucked easily between its arm and Troy's thigh. When Marco leans back in his seat, laughing at something Kevin said, Troy's chair shakes too. He missed the joke but smiles anyway, already starting to feel more grounded than he has in weeks. 

Game time comes quickly, so Troy relocates to a sofa recliner in the centre of the room to watch the game. He considers watching from a box with team staff, but prefers to stay off the radar and TV cameras, and this corner of the complex is his second home. Everyone slaps 5 as they head to take the field, and it’s a ridiculous procession that’s littered with hugs and in-jokes, and capped off by Marcus trying to make their so-called ‘handshake’ work with Troy seated. He spends a solid two minutes bouncing around before giving up and settling for a fistbump. 

Marco's been hovering just over Troy’s shoulder the whole time. He’s leaning against the back of the couch with his weight on his forearms and his hat perched crookedly on his head. His bottom lip is red and raw where he's been chewing on it, and he lingers behind until the clubhouse has emptied. 

“You staying at your place, or did you get put up?” he asks, circling around the sofa and perching on the arm. He can't hang back too long, but Troy likes that he wanted to stay. 

“They put me up. Can't drive in this, so it's better to keep close.” 

“Makes sense.” Marco reaches out, his rough fingertips tracing the line of Troy’s jaw and - that’s when it hits him. That touch is everything Troy didn't know he needed. It’s the anchor that will keep Troy tethered to earth and make sure he doesn't drift too far away when left to his own devices. “I'll take you over later, okay?” 

Troy nods and leans into the touch, and it’s hard to resist the urge to reach out and hug Marco, to pull him closer and settle in underneath his arm and stay like that for awhile. It’s not a new feeling, but it usually only comes after they’ve been in bed for a few hours - and only on the nights when Marco has Troy pushed to his limits and sometimes beyond; when he feels exhausted and exhilarated, drained and overflowing, completely broken and perfectly whole, all at the same time. It’s never just come out of the blue like this. 

But Marco seems to get it. His arm loops around Troy’s neck and pulls him in closer, and it’s brief but it works. When he speaks, his breath feels comfortably warm against Troy’s temple. “I’ll stay awhile. Long as you need.” His cheek stays pressed against Troy’s forehead for a long moment, and then with a final squeeze and a chaste kiss dropped on Troy's head, Marco hops up and heads down the tunnel. 

Troy would prefer him to stay right now, of course, but at least he’s finally out of his head and back on solid ground. 

=

The game ends in a loss, and it's backwards, but Troy’s mostly glad it did. The mood in the clubhouse is quiet and broody instead of the charged up atmosphere after a win, and he doesn’t have to try to find the energy to keep up with an excited group of friends, or make up excuses for not going to celebrate - because cast or not, he’s been gone for weeks, and they’d insist he come along. Instead, he just gets more hugs and the promise of a late breakfast date after his cast comes off in the morning. 

Troy’s found ways of getting himself up and around despite the cast, but he doesn't mind when Marco comes over with his crutches and helps him to his feet. The warm, settled feeling he's found in the clubhouse surges when Marco’s hand rests against his back while he gets the crutches situated. It nearly combusts when they're in the car and that same hand rests just above his knee while Marco drives to the hotel. 

They park, and when Marco comes around to get the door and the crutches, it takes a concerted effort for Troy to keep his hands and his mouth and his feelings to himself. And that's unexpected, mostly: he’s usually better at controlling his thoughts about Marco and their situation, but it's been a long day. It's been an even longer month away from baseball and his friends and _this_ \- he'll have to forgive himself for getting a bit emotional about everything. 

So he doesn't reach out to pull Marco into his lap, doesn't lose track of time kissing him for hours, doesn't say ‘I missed you’ or ‘I need you’ or ‘I'm just drifting without you.’ Instead, he lets Marco help him up, takes the crutches, and makes his way quietly inside. 

=

He's been living a few time zones behind Toronto and isn't tired yet, and while it feels like Troy has been laying around watching sports all day, everyday, for days on end, it's not like there's a whole lot else he can do. There’s a random west coast game playing quietly on the TV, and after getting Troy settled in on the couch, Marco’s on the phone in the tiny kitchen saying goodnight to his kids. Troy tries not to listen in, but it's hard enough to tune Marco out in the first place, nevermind doing it with so much laughter and warmth pouring from him. 

When Marco reappears, it's with a happy face, a handful of cookies and two bottles of Gatorade. He keeps the purple and places the red bottle on the table in front of Troy, then nudges at Troy’s arm until he lifts his shoulders from the decorative pillow tucked underneath his head. It's quickly replaced with Marco's thigh as he slides into the spot, and even if it's not as soft as the pillow was, it's warm and comfortable, and the fingers running over Troy’s hair are a bonus. The two cookies - peanut butter, Troy’s favourite - dropped onto his shirt with a cheeky grin are nice, too. 

“Thank you,” he says, ostensibly for the snack, but - everything else too. Troy knows Marco isn't the magical cure to all his problems and he knows not to think too hard about it, but it’s not the first time Marco’s quietly stepped in and made sure he’s taken care of. 

Marco pats his cheek and gives him a crooked smile. “Got you,” he answers simply. 

And he really does - he always does. Troy returns the smile. “You don't have to stay long. I know tomorrow's your bullpen day.” 

Marco scoffs and shakes his head, brushing that off as irrelevant. His smile is intact when he repeats his earlier promise. “Like I said. Long as you need.” 

=

The game has been over for awhile and the endless loop of daily highlights is on its third replay, but neither man has moved yet. And, really, Troy doesn’t want to - but it’s late, and he’s got a busy day ahead. He’s always been kind of a slave to responsibility. 

Troy is noncommittal when Marco asks if he should stay, and then Marco asks again. 

“Do you need me to stay?” His voice has taken on a gravelly undertone, and Troy feels something stir deep in his gut at the way Marco is looking at him, focused and determined and almost daring him to brush it off one more time. 

“Yeah.” Troy answers quickly, then bites his lip, unsure if this is still casual. “Yes. Please.” 

Marco smiles easily then, his fingers drawing lazy circles over Troy's forearm. “Will you tell me what you need, or do I have to bully that one out of you too?” He sounds normal again, playful even, and that pulls Troy’s stomach in an entirely different direction.

“I…” he starts but the words feel heavy and stuck, and he glances at Marco anxiously. He's mildly surprised when Marco takes his hand, raising it to his mouth and kissing Troy's knuckles. 

“It's okay,” he murmurs, his mouth gentle and lingering against Troy's hand, eyes cast down. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - said that, like that. Just wanna -” Marco frowns, like he's searching for the words. Instead, he changes paths, gently squeezing Troy's hand. “You haven't been okay, have you?”

The question catches Troy off guard, and he can't really explain so he only shrugs. But Marco gets it. Marco gets _him_ in a way no one else ever has. 

“I - no. Not really.” It feels strange to say it, because it’s been weeks and he hasn’t - but no one has really asked, either. 

Marco frowns, leaning in and holding a kiss to Troy’s forehead. He looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t right away. He pulls back after a moment, eyes still dark, and the getting the words out seem to be a struggle. “Call me when it’s bad, okay? If you want to. I - it might help, just to talk or whatever.” 

It wasn’t what Troy expected to hear, but he nods. That would be nice. 

“Whatever you need, T. Now, later, whenever. I want to look after it. You.” 

Troy's thumb runs over Marco’s to acknowledge his words, but a long few minutes pass before he can find an answer. He'd planned on talking first, but when Troy turns to face Marco head on with his request it seems like a waste of time. His mouth is _right there_ , so he just presses his lips against Marco's and takes what he needs. 

“Yeah?” Marco asks after they've been kissing for a while, slow and lazy and soft, his fingers at the waistband of Troy's sweatpants. 

“Just this for awhile? If that’s okay?” Troy feels silly asking despite Marco’s promise of whatever he needs, but his apprehension is quick to fade when both of Marco’s hands move to his jaw and cup his face. 

“Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: this was largely written in a state of emotional clinging to marco amid all the trade rumours late in the summer, it got messy and i'm not sorry. it was also 95% done before the first installment of this delightful disaster, and is the entire reason why that took such a fluffy turn at the end. i’ve ruined myself and only kind of regret it, so here we are. there are at least two more episodes to come, so please learn to love this rarepair. dirtbags forever! 
> 
> =  
> talk baseball to me: [tumblr.](http://tulowhiskey.tumblr.com/)


End file.
